


Human Studies

by CatharsisWriter (Platypusaurus)



Series: Soul & Grace [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Emotions, Gen, Grace Sharing, Hurt No Comfort, Late Night Observation, Soul Bond, Suffering, Sympathy, soul
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-17
Updated: 2018-03-17
Packaged: 2019-04-01 12:37:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,525
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13998498
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Platypusaurus/pseuds/CatharsisWriter
Summary: Dean has just escaped hell. While Sam is minding his own business, Dean does some research, unaware of a fascinated Castiel who is secretly watching.





	Human Studies

**Author's Note:**

> These are just a few thoughts I recently had about SE4 Dean and Cas.  
> Castiel somehow realizes that Dean might be more than any human to him. You can interpret this as Destiel-ish or not, whichever you prefer.

Heavy night lingered over the shabby motel room, only illuminated by the dreary light of the cheap lamp on the nightstand and the flickering TV, its sound just a soft mumble in the background.

Dean Winchester, still fully clothed, rested half sitting, half lying on top of the motel bed closer to the door. The other one was left empty, with neatly folded covers but without any pillows. They were stuffed between the headboard of Dean’s bed and the back of his head. 

His younger brother Sam had left only a few minutes before, wanting to _stretch his legs_ , as he said. Both knew that he was lying but Sam had taken the car and as exhausted as Dean was, he hadn’t even tried to spy on him. 

The events of the last time had taken a toll on him: Besides escaping 40 years of torture in Hell, it really was something to discover that Heaven existed. Not to forget that said Heaven was obviously controlled by a celestial army; angelic fighting machines, powerful warriors, who couldn’t take a joke. Not to mention, that he had been pulled out of Hell and rebuilt by Castiel, a seraph, who'd left a bright red, handprint-like mark on his upper arm, which sometimes tingled strangely when the angel was close. 

 

Just like now. Castiel lingered directly in the motel room but out off Dean’s sight and hidden in another dimension. If possible, he stayed close to this human being, which didn’t exactly mean, that he followed him around the whole time. The reason for being here had been an unconscious call for the angel.

 Dean had radiated something comparable to a prayer, less focussed, though, especially towards Castiel. But still, he had felt it and curiosity had dragged him towards this place. Something that Dean must’ve been doing earlier had sent out a signal. 

He hadn’t tried to get in contact with the hunter this time, relying on that Dean wasn’t able to bear his true voice. 

It confused Castiel somehow. He did not want to accept it. After rebuilding this simple human being, some traces of his own grace stayed within the cells, blended into the very substance of Dean. This fact shouldn't give him any benefits he hadn't had before his trip to Hell. But at least, as Dean was supposed to be special enough to be the true vessel of an Archangel, he should be able to withstand more of Castiel’s holiness. Castiel was a part of him since then and their connection was supposed to mean something. 

He knew Dean to the core after rebuilding him, establishing this bond almost unknowingly. He knew but didn't understand. He’d watched humanity since they had come down from the trees but as much as he’d observed – they kept being a mystery to him. On the one hand, Dean seemed to be much more humanly than most men Castiel had ever observed, but on the other, he lacked in human things that most of the people were likely to handle much better.

 

Wearing his vessel also in the other dimension, Castiel tilted his head slightly to one side. _Studying_ he called his hidden watching by himself and that was his only intention in doing so: Highly interested why, for Heaven’s sake, Dean, a _righteous man_ , was not able to listen to his true voice, he hoped for any kind of explanation, understanding. 

Dean didn’t do anything that caused too much excitement. His face was of a strangely grey shade as he kept it close to the pages of a heavy book which was sprawled on his lap, his legs bent with his feet (still clad in his heavy boots) right on the sheets. 

Castiel watched closely how Dean’s eyes stared at the printed words. Every now and then, they scurried from left to right in the movement of reading but Dean didn’t seem to be able to concentrate hard enough. He furrowed his brow when he seemed to realize that he just had read the same lines for the umpteenth time without getting their content. In those cases, he would start to thumb furiously through the pages as if he was on a desperate research. Maybe desperation it was, what had made his heart sent out a call for the angel who he still didn’t trust. 

Strangely enough, his eyes looked somehow smaller than usual, covered beneath puffed and heavy lids and underlined by dark circles. Castiel took his features as _being very tired_ or _being exhausted_ , to be more precise. 

At the same time, scanning Dean’s soul, he spotted something that drew his attention: Something hot and fiery was boiling through the hunter’s veins which could only be described as deep anger and frustration and enough of both to keep a tired human being wide awake. Dean felt betrayed by the lying of his brother, obviously. But that bright and burning yellow was only like the first layer of many emotions that waved through his scarred soul.

 

Right beneath the yellow laid a plain but heavy greyish-blue that seemed to cling to the frustration, pulling the anger down as much as possible. Castiel identified it as a deep concern, with a mud-like consistency. Assumedly, Dean worried for Sam, highly suspicious of what he was actually doing right now.

 The basis of the soul wore a sooty black. Flakes of ash rose from it, blending into everything else. Immense suffering, with deep fractures of wound-like crimson that bled out by every breath that Dean would take. Even though Castiel didn’t know human feelings on first hand, he did not like to see the pain which pierced through every corner of Dean’s soul. He wished, he had been able to take the memories of Hell and torture, of loss and self-hatred – but that was against his order. This man was needed completely, including his past and sorrow. 

Unable to ignore the soul’s darkness, he scanned one last time through the existence he knew better than his own, discovering specks of fear of unspeakable things, sadness, and boredom. Everything was muffled by a thick and numb fog, obviously the white exhaustion. 

 

Now he knew how Dean was doing in that very moment but still, he had no clue what made him special, or better: what made him immune to the ear-opening effect of being rebuilt by angelic grace. Suddenly, the pulling that his soul sent out to Castiel’s grace grew slightly stronger. Once again, it felt angry.

 Dean started to scratch through the fabric of his flannel, right above the handprint that Castiel had left on him. The hunter’s frown became deeper, the already stiff muscles of his shoulders tensed. Attentiveness shot visibly through his mind and body. Castiel wondered if Dean reacted to his presence. He just realized that he had started to slide unwarily into the dimensions Dean could sense. 

That was ... quite embarrassing. It had never happened to him before, letting off his guard just like that! Castiel braced himself and went back into the untraceable.

 

Dean shook his head furiously. As if he tried to get rid of an impression which he wished to deny. Beneath his pile of pillows lay his gun and he dug his hand between the layers, touching his weapon in order to calm down.

A grim smile spread on his sucked-in lips. The smile of a man who’d seen Hell and asked himself what was left to fear, now that he'd been back down to earth. 

Dean pulled his hand back from behind his back and gripped his book again with both hands. His weary eyelids fluttered as he fought sleep once more. This time, he lost. Castiel watched fascinated as his eyes sprang open again, Dean’s vision unfocused with a beginning dream that blurred with his reality. And then he was asleep. 

His grip on the book loosened enough to let it slide down his legs, finally dropping it with rustling pages onto the mattress. Castiel moved closer, again leaving his hidden dimension but this time completely on purpose. An unearthly smile shone on the earthly face of his vessel as he could read the book’s title on its cover. Dean had been on a research, looking for answers he did not want to hear from Castiel, although he obviously had wanted to get more information about the angel.

 

He actually had been reading the Holy Bible. 

Dean Winchester, a doubter, who only wanted to believe what he could see with his own eyes, refused to ask an angel about Heaven. Instead, he preferred to read in a rather fictional book some hallucinating humans had written over centuries. 

It was the first taste of irony and cynicism Castiel had ever experienced on first hand. It was one of the things that made Dean, well, more _human_ than it was good for him, especially in his position of being Michael’s true vessel. It was something that drew Castiel only more fascinated by the man he shared a holy bond with. 

Castiel decided to watch over this human in his uneasy sleep. He just wanted to take his studies a bit further.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm German and this is my very first fanfiction written in English, that I dare to publish. I had no beta-reader and I really suck at English comma placement. I hope it is still readable and maybe some of you enjoyed it anyway.


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